


Idiosyncratic

by aluinihi



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Artist!Roy, Attempt at Humor, Doodles, Ed is his usual self, Fluff, M/M, Roy draws Ed, but since it’s not explicitly stated I’ll leave the underage tag, fits both 03 and fmab but my heart says 03, it’s an AU and I really see Ed as 18 in this piece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-21
Packaged: 2019-09-07 14:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16855420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aluinihi/pseuds/aluinihi
Summary: Ed ran his fingers over the papers, tracing the drafty lines with the tip of his nails. It was so different from Mustang’s handwriting; free and simple, almost as if he’d done it thoughtlessly. The doodles covered the back page of a badly printed document, that Ed supposed the man had mean to throw away and, instead of doing so, decided to sketch. Edward was no connoisseur of the fine arts but he could admit that the Colonel was a good drawer. Even if he had a few objections regarding the themes of these drawings.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!
> 
> I had intentions to post this after it was completely finished (there’re just a few more paragraphs left to write), but... Well, stuff happens to everyone, right? I just really need to actually do something that resembles being productive.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this!

There was nothing in this world that could possibly make Edward Elric believe in his eyes.

It’s not like he was trying to stick his nose where he was not invited to — although he wasn’t trying not to do that either — so obviously it was entirely Mustang’s fault. What was the bastard thinking? Leaving his stuff _displayed_ on his desk as if no one could see it? Knowing him, he was probably just not thinking at all. Lucky him it was Ed whom Hawkeye had granted access to the inner office and not some nosy jerk.

Ed ran his fingers over the papers, tracing the drafty lines with the tip of his nails. It was so different from Mustang’s handwriting; free and simple, almost as if he’d done it thoughtlessly. The doodles covered the back page of a badly printed document, that Ed supposed the man had mean to throw away and, instead of doing so, decided to sketch. Edward was no connoisseur of the fine arts but he could admit that the Colonel was a good drawer. Even if he had a few objections regarding the themes of these drawings.

Because that was his braid. And his coat.

And these were definitely _his_ legs crossed on the table.

The paper was filled with anatomic doodles and Ed’s clothes and _there’s no fucking way his eyes look_ that _intense_. Was this supposed to be his mouth? Did he smile like that at the Colonel? The heat climbed up his cheeks as his sight landed on a very _undressed_ sketch of his back — the scars were wrong and the metal actually occupied a little bit more of his shoulder blade _but that’s beside the point_ oh no so beside the point—

The Colonel was drawing him. Roy Mustang was drawing Edward Elric. He even attempted the automail but apparently, he couldn’t get it right so it ended up as very rough lines covered by cross marks.

There were noises beyond the wooden door and Ed ran to the sofa. His heart was racing and his cheeks were _on fire_ and he wanted to run a marathon or maybe giggle like a schoolgirl because _the Colonel was drawing him_.

The man entered the room, stiff posture and impeccable uniform; and smirked at Ed.

”Fullmetal,” he said, “I reckon you owe me a report.”

Ed crossed his arms over his chest. “What else I’d be here for, Mustang? Let’s get this over with, I have better stuff to do then to look at your bastard face.”

”Seeing that you are short not only in height but in time as well, I suppose we should make this quick.” He crossed the room in a few strides, sitting behind his desk and looking all smug and, _shit_ , Edward wanted to punch him so bad.

”Who you’re calling so short he can’t even—“

Mustang crumpled the paper into a ball and threw it in the trash.

”The report, Fullmetal.

_i reckon the only thing i owe you is a fist to the fucking face._

  
  
  


”I swear to you, it was all over his desk!” Ed whispered.

Alphonse waved the helmet emphatically. “No, I don’t believe you.”

They were at the library, hidden away in a corner and surrounded by books. Ed hadn’t wanted to tell Al about the doodle thing, but he couldn’t help the jolts of electricity that ran through his body every time he thought about it. Soon enough, his younger brother had figured out that something had happened during his time at headquarters. _Alphonse_ was the one who pestered him to tell, so why the hell couldn’t he take Ed seriously? 

”C’mon, Al, why’d I lie to you?” The boy just kept chanting _no no no_ and Ed rolled his eyes, “Especially about something as embarrassing as _this?_ I mean, the pervert even drew me _naked_ , what the fuck...”

Al jumped.

”He did what?!”

That had been definitely too loud for a library. Edward’s hand flew to the helmet’s mouth and he looked around, checking if anyone could hear them.

”Stop screaming!” He whispered aggressively. “And don’t fret, it was only my back.” He waved his hands dismissively, even though his face was warming up a bit. “It was still fucking creepy, though.”

Alphonse detangled himself from his brother and went to fidget with one of the bookcases. He looked distressed, and Ed couldn’t help but wonder how was Al capable of making an armor look so small.

”Brother...”

”What?”

”What if the Colonel... _hm_...”

”What if the Colonel...?”

The younger Elric halted.

”Never mind, forget about it.

Edward wanted to hit his head on the table. He couldn’t though, there were too many books.

”Shit, Al, now I’m never going to forget!”

”Not my fault if you’re so nosy!”

Edward frowned. “I am not _nosy!_ ”

”If you really weren’t then you wouldn’t be messing with the Colonel’s stuff!” Alphonse shoved a leather finger against the older’s temple.

”You’re changing the subject!”

Alphonse sighed. “You’re not letting that go, are you?”

”Nop, never.”

An even deeper sigh and the boy surrendered:

”What if the Colonel has a crush on you?”

_what the fuck_

Edward let out a something in between a laugh and a shriek.

”What the” _wheeze_ “fuck?!” He had to stop for a few seconds to breathe because he had just choked on his own saliva. “Do you ever listen to yourself? It’s _the Colonel_.”

The Colonel. The bastard. The smug commanding officer that couldn’t command Ed to put a uniform. Roy Mustang. Roy _fucking_ Mustang. He was nothing but a man behind a desk — a smirking, infuriating man behind a desk. Until today, Ed would have doubted that Mustang could even have a hobby. And _drawing_ , for god’s sake. What was next? Knitting? Fuckin’ jogging?

_(don’t imagine him shirtless and covered in sweat after exercising oh god oh god don’t you dare)_

”Brother, it would make sense, see—”

”No, it would _never_ —“

”Wait, wait!” Alphonse grabbed Ed by the forearms, pinning him down to the chair. “Look, Brother! If he is doodling you that means he thinks of you, right? Otherwise, he would be doodling something else!”

Edward twisted his body to get out of his brother’s hold, but Alphonse just tightened the grip.

”Think of it like—“ Ed kicked the metal shin underneath the table, in a vain attempt to get his brother to let go. “Rude! Stop struggling and listen to me! Brother, what if he thinks you’re _handsome?_

Edward froze. “No.”

”Why not? He’s drawing _you_ , why would he do that if he didn’t think you look nice?”

The older Elric swallowed dry. His heart was beating so hard and his stomach was doing this weird flip-flop now and it was disgusting. Utterly disgusting.

”So what if he has a crush on me?” He waved Alphonse’s hands away and opened a book. “It’s not like it’s gonna happen anyway, and if he does, so what? I have better stuff to do.”

”Brother...”

”...what?”

”I think _you_ have a crush on the Col—“

Ed kicked him in the shin _harder_.

  
  
  


The next time Edward went to headquarters, he threw his gloves in Alphonse’s direction and barged into Mustang’s office with his coat draped over his left shoulder. The tank top exposed the automail almost completely and he even made a scene of sprawling on the couch, arms stretched on the backrest and at full display.

And then the Colonel’s eyes—

—ran over both of them like a _fucking hawk’s_.

Ed wanted to lick his lips, why did they feel so dry now. He bit the inside of cheek instead, pressing the meat between his teeth until he could taste blood. Mustang’s eyes kept straying from his face and it took Ed quite a while to understand that the Colonel was looking at _his collarbones_.

Oh, he was so fucked up.

”Fullmetal.

Ed arched his brows in a _what?_ expression. The man cleaned his throat before continuing.

”I assume you are here to acquire information regarding your next mission.”

_actually, i’m here to clean your drool, i mean it’s getting all over the carpet_

”You’re the one who called me, old man.”

There was something so damn pleasing in seeing the stoic mask failing as the corners of his lips twitched in despair. _(nice lips though maybe too fucking nice even oh shit oh shit)_

The Colonel threw a file on the top of the wooden table. It landed with a resounding slap and Ed was so on edge he almost jumped.

”Here’s all you need to know.”

Before standing up, Ed took a moment to crack his shoulders. He rotated them, feeling the muscles stretch and the smooth clicks of both bones and metal. His insides turned and turned and then dissolved into mush — the other’s gaze was almost _too much_.

Then, finally, the teen approached the desk. He wanted to check each one of the papers above it, what if there were more drawings he didn’t know about...? Shit, this was really getting to his head, wasn’t it? Ed supported himself with his right hand, metallic fingers splayed over the wooden surface and pretended to read the file.

Damn, Mustang could be subtle. He was looking, yes, Ed could tell — or _feel_ , whatever — but it was not gawking or blatant stares. No, he was furtive. Pitch-black eyes scanning over automail and chest and then switching focus too quickly to raise suspicions. If it hadn’t been for the doodles Ed might have really never found out, and for some reason that seemed even more indignation-worthy than the fact that _Roy Mustang thought he was attractive_.

Because it had to be it, right? Why the fuck else would the bastard draw him for?

”Sounds boring as fuck.”

The man dramatically rolled his eyes.

”You can always bring down some building to distract yourself.

”I don’t bring buildings down to _distract myself_ , you asshole.”

”Oh, that’s right,” Mustang smirked, “You bring them down so you can reach the door handle.”

Ed punched the table so hard it probably left dents. And it was his flesh fist.

  
  
  


Edward came back from the mission with a split lip and new scratches on his automail. Alphonse needed some cleaning urgently, and Ed kept trying to rub the dirt away with his coat even though it didn’t make a difference anymore.

It was probably the worst train ride he’d ever had. Not only the seats were uncomfortable, but his thoughts were too. He hated to travel at night; the wagons were silent and nothing happened. All he could do was stare out of the window into the darkness and try not to feel as empty as the landscape.

The destination was not the most welcoming either. Central was like an expanded fortress, with its paved streets and tall brick walls — a maze in greyscale and cement. And the people were shit, too; pointy noses and snobbish accent, as if being born in a certain part of the country entitled them to be assholes.

They reached the station around 9 a.m. and at that point, Alphonse was already talking about Mustang. _You need to take a bath first, Brother, he can’t see you like that!_ Edward just rolled his eyes and marched to headquarters, with the younger right behind him.

”Brother, you are all dirty!”

”At least change clothes!”

”How are you planning to kiss the Colonel with bad breath? Go brush your teeth!”

Edward shrieked and almost fell face-first to the ground.

”Shut up, people will hear you!” He threw the suitcase to Alphonse’s arms. “Stop that! I’m just going to hand him the report so you go ahead and wait for me at the dorms, okay?”

Alphonse sighed, resigned. Edward knew that his brother still wanted to protest; god, the younger Elric could almost be as stubborn as Ed himself. Before anything else could be said, Edward ran away to headquarters.

The building stood in the core of the city, opulent and wealthy. A symbol of the Amestrisan militarized economy and the power of its rulers. However, Edward was fully aware of how tainted the structure was, marked with the blood of soldiers and rebels.

He really needed sleep.

Hawkeye greeted him with soft brown eyes and a tiny smile. Jean Havoc had an unlit cigarette dangling from his mouth. Fuery waved at him excitedly, Falman gave him a curt nod and Breda was nowhere to be seen. _yeah at least these guys are doing good_

”Edward, I hope you had a nice trip,” said the woman, “Colonel Mustang will be back in a few minutes, if you can wait a bit.”

”Sure, why not.” The boy almost leaped in joy at the prospect of being alone in the inner office, but shrugging was way more socially acceptable so that’s what he did. “‘Gonna take a nap on the couch or something.”

He barely waited for Hawkeye’s allowance before entering — in the end, _she_ ruled the place, therefore she was the one allowing people to do stuff. Closing the door behind him, he took in the room with the amusement of a kid opening a candy bar. His eyes found _The Desk_ and it was surprisingly clean for the Colonel but who cares.

Well, Ed did. With all the papers and files organized, he couldn’t find even a small doodle. It was all documents; requests, complaints, some dumb engineering projects, and the canteen budget. He flicked through them, trying to catch a glimpse of a sketchy line. Edward let out a disappointed snort, now actually considering that nap on the couch...

The _trash bin_. It sat innocently at the foot of the desk and Ed glared at it like it was a snarling chimera. Obviously, he kneeled down to rummage.

And there were _so many_ sketches. A few of them were random objects — like pens, fruits or furniture — and others were blurry female bodies curving as if dancing. However, there were two that seemed have received considerably more attention. One was a small profile of Edward’s upper body, with his face tilted to the side and eyes closed; there was slightly relaxed slump to his shoulders that Ed could swear the man had never seen before.

On the back of the same paper, Roy seemed to have dedicated himself to the blond’s arms. Both of them, and Edward really should have been freaked out, but he really wasn’t. He couldn’t, no; he was too preoccupied being _fucking mesmerized_ with the precision. The automail draws were startling similar to the real thing — the joints, the screws, even the few wires that appeared in the structure, everything. The limbs were drawn over and over again, in many different positions. The metal closed in a fist, flesh carrying a book or the pocket watch, palms pressed together as if in a prayer. The most detailed one showed two hands. Fingers interlaced, curling delicately in a hold.

He wanted to be creeped out, he really did. He wanted to call the bastard out on his weirdness, tell him that it was disrespectful to use him like that. Tell him to _stop looking_ because it wasn’t Ed’s fault that the pervert couldn’t keep his eyes off of his subordinate.

Why would Roy throw it away...?

Ed heard the knob turning before he saw it. He stood up promptly, letting the sketches fall back into the dumpster and almost instantly regretted the action. He couldn’t go back now though, not with Mustang squinting his eyes at him suspiciously.

”May I ask what—“

”I just came to drop this.”

Edward took the crumpled report out of his coat pocket and shoved it on the table, and then raised his chin to stare defiantly back at the man.

However, Mustang’s eyes were not that hard anymore. They were— what, _gleaming?_ Ed really couldn’t tell. The softness was clear though, the gaze circling Edward’s face with a bit of dazzle. It made him uncomfortable and he shifted on his feet, begging for the heat growing in his chest not to reach his cheeks. He couldn’t understand; Ed was nothing but a mess at the moment so was that look a bad thing? He touched his ear to tuck a strand away and—

— his braid was _undone_.

The back was fine still, tied messily with a band. But the front, well... The loose hairs fell around his face like a curtain of blond.

Roy Mustang was fucking _enchanted_ by _his hair_.

And it was probably all dirty and disheveled, just like the rest of him.

The blush hit him like a punch and he quickly raised his hands to redo his braid. After plaiting it tight, he looked up to see still Mustang standing by the door, as if in a state of shock.

Ed gave him a half-smile and brushed past him.

  
  
  


He could do this. Alphonse assured him he was fine, so yes, he was fine, really. If his brother had no complaints about it then everything was okay.

Edward could feel people looking at him though, and it bothered him deeply. He never really minded being at the center of attention — no, Al, he dressed like that because he _liked_ so _shut up_ — and having the eyes following him through the streets shouldn’t be so startling. But leather garments and a flashy red coat were one thing. Long blond hair waving with the wind was _entirely different._

He’d lied to Alphonse about losing his elastic-band. No way he’s brother would ever stop teasing him for going out without plaiting his hair for... _reasons_. Reasons with dark eyes like an abyss and smirking lips and obvious character flaws.

What was with the hair, anyway? It's nothing but... well, _hair_. And yet people stared. A few seemed disturbed by it, by a guy wearing it long like a girl. However, some of them had the same light to their eyes that Roy had had a few days ago, as if... as if...

As if Ed was a pleasant sight.

He shoved his hands in the pants’ pockets and marched through headquarters with his head held high, wondering what would be Mustang’s reaction to his current appearance. Would he be as startled as before? Would his eyes widen or his brows furrow? Would he comment on it, teasingly or appreciatively?

Ed was almost running now, the nerves leaving him on edge and twitchy. The loud clank-clank-clank of Alphonse doing his best to keep up with him was rather grounding in midst of all the anxiety. He swallowed dry, trying to contain the urge to shove the hair behind his ears. He could always ask Hawkeye for a spare band...

No, he was better than this. Edward Elric was no coward, especially not in front of Mustang. He was going to burst into that office and show the man he was indeed drawing-worthy. Hell, he was painting-worthy probably, of that oil ones with shirtless dudes hanging in the walls of famous museums.

He kicked the door open and startled Havoc awake — hair tousled, drool running down his chin and a piece of paper sticking to his cheek. Fuery gasped, Falman frowned and Breda raised a brow:

”You in a hurry today, Ed?”

Hawkeye raised her eyes from the files, lips quirking upwards almost imperceptibly. He was not blushing anymore, not with all the odd looks he had gotten on the way here.

”I lost my hair-band and, yeah, kinda,” he admitted, “Al and I wanna check the library before we’re shipped away in another a weird mission.”

Alphonse waved shyly. “Hi.”

All the looks went to the nice brother and Ed was able to relax. A little bit.

Because the worse was yet to come.

He asked Al if he wanted to go see the Colonel with him, but the boy emphatically denied. “I think it’s better if you go in alone.”

”I really think it’s not.”

Alphonse sighed, “Just _go_!”

Ed glared at the door handle, trying to convey all his nervousness in the simple act. Then, he took a deep breath and raised his hand to knock—

—only to hesitate right before because _he never knocks._ He turned the knob throwing all his strength into it, and kicked the door close behind him with a loud _thud_.

The Colonel sat upright abruptly as if startled — which he really shouldn’t be, he was expecting Ed after all. Ed looked at him, uptight and alert as if ready to bolt, and in a blink, the man was calm and collected once again. However, the mask was failing; and failing _awfully_ , considering that Ed could still see the pale fingers twitching on the edge of the armrest.

The urge move his eyes away was almost overbearing, but he held the older’s gaze with warmth boiling his insides. Shit, he had been mistaken! None of that passersby had that... _glow_ , whatever the fuck it was. Now _that’s_ the kind of eyes Edward was aiming for — the one that Roy had been giving him for the past weeks.

The Colonel licked his lips absentmindedly and Ed went a little bit week on the knees. This was much more intense, this had a literal fire in it, this— fuck, this had _history_. This was not the _I’ve-just-realized-you’re-kinda-cute_ from the corridors, no; this seemed the real thing, this was _I’ve-been-nurturing-this feeling-for-a-while_ or something like it. And fuck if Ed wasn’t going to revel in it.

He raised a daring eyebrow at the man. “So...?”

Mustang blinked — once, twice — as if he’d just snapped out of a trance.

”Well, Fullmetal,” he cleared his throat while tugging at his lapels, and Edward almost convulsed in laughs, “I see you are doing your best to break the dress code as always.”

”Yeah, yeah, I lost my hair band, so deal with it,” Edward shrugged, making his way to the sofa.

The Colonel started ruffling through the files on his table.

”I’m sure you can find a spare with the secretaries.”

”Yeah, probably.”

Then he raised a brow and Ed prepared himself for the jab.

”Now, forgive me for the curiosity, but what stopped you from _transmuting_ a hair-band?”

Ed’s right leg did some weird jerk and that was deeply worrisome, thus he rearranged his position so that it was underneath the metal one. Secured from all unwanted movements, Edward’s eyes strayed from the men’s, setting on the floor. Shame burned his cheeks as Roy rested his chin on crossed gloved-fingers.

”I-I just— well, it’s kinda... uhm...” Something clicked and he quickly regained his composure, “ _Fucking shit_ , why didn’t I think of that? You have an elastic? An eraser? Petroleum?”

Rummaging through the drawers, Mustangs lips twitched in amusement, “I’m afraid I don’t.”

The blond groaned in feigned frustration.

”Guess I’m gonna have to check with the secretaries later, then,” Ed arched a brow, feeling confident enough to sprawl over the couch like a cat under the sun, “But you called me here for a reason, hm?”

That question was like a switch-button, the man promptly going back to the typical authoritative figure.

”Well, these,” He tapped a bunch of files, “are the files for your next assignment. You’ll be going west. It’s a two-day train ride and you’ll be reporting to Major General Müller as well.”

Afterward, he plucked a crumpled piece of paper from the very far end of the table, pinching it between his thumb and index finger as if it brought him revulsion.

”And this,” He added, dropping the document next to the others, “Is your latest report. That you will be rewriting. Because it’s illegible.”

Edward stared at the stack over Mustang’s desk. Then at Mustang himself.

The man stared back.

”Are you going to come and get these or...?”

Ed sighed, “It would be really great if you could bring it here.”

” _Fullmetal >_.”

Begrudgingly, the boy left the comfort of the cushions to get the papers. After securing them against his chest alongside with a clean report sheet, he stole one of Mustang’s pens and went back to the sofa. The Colonel cleared his throat at the sound of leather creaking against leather.

”I take that you are not leaving, then.”

”If you want me out, just ask.”

”Each day that passes, you become more and more insubordinate—“

”If you want me out, just _ask_.”

The answer was nothing but the soft sound of pen sliding on paper, and that ought to be a small victory.

Using the documents as support, he scribbled the report once again — his handwriting was not that much better, but there was sure some improvement. His concentration was only halfway into the task, however; his hair kept falling over his eyes and _Mustang_ , who was no more than two meters away from him.

He ran the flesh hand through his hair, pulling most of it to the side and then tucking it behind his ear. His skin was tingling and he had to repeatedly press his lips together to avoid smiling. The few short glances he threw to the man guaranteed that he was not really working — one did not need that much wrist movement to _sign_ , for god’s sake.

With that came the feeling of being observed. Normally, it would leave him on edge or distraught, but the knowledge of _who_ was staring made the whole thing deliciously exciting. He had to stop his legs from jiggling and _would it be weird if he touched his hair again?_ He did it anyway, almost intuitively untying a small knot, letting his vision travel once again to the other occupant of the room.

Their eyes locked and Ed halted entirely.

Mustang appeared to be immobile too, pen held a few millimeters away from paper mid-scribble. There was something around them, inside them. Edward had always heard of _sparks flying_ in these situations, but this was nothing like a fire. It was still and quiet, frozen and lurking: ice so cold that could burn as much as flames if touched. Like a ticking-time-bomb a nanosecond away from exploding, or a rope that only needs a tiny tug to rip.

It dawned on him that he wanted this, he wanted it to stop being a promise just within his reach. He wanted it to become _real and tangible_ , so that he could twist it in his hands and mold it into something that would be good for him, for _them_. And he could do that, he really could; maybe he didn’t really understand the practicalities, but if Roy could give him some time he certainly _would_.

Roy swallowed and Ed’s mouth went _dry_. 

”Are you done?”

His voice was lower, rougher, and Ed’s heart was hammering against the ribcage because even without the silence the tension was still there.

”Almost”.

Ed lowered his head back to the report on his lap and the ice melted instantly.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was it any good? I like to think I’m funny but maybe I should just stick to angst lol


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!  
> Before you read: drinking age here where I live is 18 so... 
> 
> Also, English is not my native language, so please warn me of mistakes!

Hawkeye took a day off.

Edward had always thought that whenever something like that happened, the office would immediately turn into chaos. He’d never been around before to experience it, considering it was such a rare occurrence and Ed traveled consistently. Actually, it was so rare that sometimes he wondered if it wasn’t just a myth, another one of Breda’s tales.

But apparently it did happen, and Edward was now a witness as well. Surprisingly, the office was still functional in general; the main change laid on the atmosphere.

The room acquired this casual air. Jean Havoc yawned a lot and sometimes whistled while doing his job. Breda could eat on duty, not minding the crumbles falling on the documents. Mustang left his inner office exile to occupy Hawkeye’s desk, with his own papers spread over the area as if he owned it. Kain Fuery, who had been sharing his table with Edward for today, chugged coffee down as if it was water and hummed popular songs. The only who appeared to be unaffected was Falman, but his shoulders had a slight slump denouncing that he too felt more relaxed.

However, the work took the double time to get finished because they _talked_. And it was awful because the report was boring, so Ed couldn’t even properly focus and tune the noise out.

The ones doing the most of it were Heymans and Jean. At some points of the conversation, Edward just wanted to smack them in the head — they kept talking about girls and, honestly, who the fuck cared if Claire had a nice ass? Mustang sometimes chimed in, offering a few comments himself, and Breda rolled his eyes when those were too formidable.

At the moment, the topic was _who-could-make-Kain-more-uncomfortable_ and — although it started with heavy sexual innuendos — it now involved Jean Havoc loudly cracking his spine. Each snap of joints brought out another hiss from the poor Sergeant. Breda decided to twist his eyelids upwards, and Edward was sure Kain would be passing out at any moment. Vato scowled at Mustang, who couldn’t stop himself from chuckling at the blond second-lieutenant twisting on the chair.

"When I was a kid,” said Breda, “I could dislocate my shoulder and put it back.”

Falman frowned, "That’s not very healthy.”

"Who cares? I bet I could make Kain throw up with that.”

“You guys are so mean,” the man in question sighed resignedly, dropping his head on the table next to Edward’s arm, “Why can’t you just mind your own business like Edward?”

Ed’s head snapped up, forgetting completely about the report he was writing. Four pairs of eyes on him and, fuck, all he’s ever wanted to do was write his damn shit down; now, he had to deal with _that_. He didn’t even have time to voice a word before Jean laughed.

”Yo, boss, I’m sure you can do a lot of freaky stuff too, uh.”

Kain went three shades paler and Ed rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, so what?”

”What kind?,” interjected Breda, sounding way too interested.

He could have said many things. _I can touch my ear with my foot_ or _I can move my nose like a fucking bunny_. Or something else, really, he could do many ‘freaky stuff’. But the Colonel was looking at him; that stupid eyebrow quirked up in amusement and Ed felt the sudden urge to wipe the floor with that expression. He stared at Mustang dead in the eye and announced in the most casual way possible:

”I can do a full split.”

The brow went down in record time. Breda let out an impressed whistle and Kain jumped back to a sitting position.

”For real...?,” Havoc inquired, squinting his eyes at him, “I don’t believe you.”

Edward shrugged, “Whatever.”

_ask me to do it ask me to do it holy shit just ask me to do it_

”Do it!,” dared Breda.

Edward sighed, groaning as if the simple request was the most tiresome ordeal. Fuery’s mood improved significantly with the prospect of witnessing the blond doing a split, and Ed had to count that as another pro.

He stood up and got rid of the red coat, slowly stretching his arms above his head as he looked around for good spot. The area right in front of Hawkeye’s — currently, Mustang’s — desk was clean and Ed couldn’t be luckier. Oh, the visual the Colonel would get... The man would be doing anatomic sketches on that for _weeks_.

”You’re not really going to do it, right?”

Mustang’s voice — so confused, majestically thrown out of balance — only encouraged him further. The monster inside of Ed’s belly wanted that bafflement to reach his features; or maybe just to soften his eyes a little bit, make him look at Ed the same way he did before the stupid assignment on the west. He positioned himself in the middle of the room.

"Is this against one of your stupid rules, Colonel?”

He began slowly spreading his legs, and the exclamations rose around him.

Roy offered him a stern look, “ _Fullmetal_ ”

And Ed gracefully slid down to the floor, one foot in front of him and the other behind. It was flawless, obviously, he’d done this countless times before; he did enjoy pushing his body to its very limit. Then, just because, he threw his head back, curling his spine in an audacious stretch, and _yawned_.

”You _little shit!_ ,” exclaimed Breda right before turning to Havoc, “I knew he could do it!”

Edward wanted so bad to look at Mustang’s face. Anxiousness coiled in his stomach and the heat prickled from his ears down to his neck. He closed his legs and stood up. With a hammering heart, he finally turned to look at the man—

—who was reading the paperwork and tapping his pen against the desk.

His stomach dropped like a stone, the dread settled deep into his guts. The others kept going on and on about Ed’s flexibility like it was something otherworldly, and Roy for the first time today seemed to completely ignore the chatter. Head lowered and eyes stuck to the printed words; if it was all an act, it was a damn good one.

Edward went back to his place next to Kain, trying his best to smile at whatever supposedly funny thing Jean had just said. As he sat, he risked one more glance at the man: he had a frown and Ed could only hope it was from concentration and not annoyance.

  
  
  


When Ed had no missions, the brothers dedicated themselves to their search. The library became their home and they devoured the books, piling up notes and sources. Edward lived for those periods, when he could spend days in a row doing what he and Alphonse loved the most.

His concentration was not at its peak these days, though. He had been doing his best to hide it from Alphonse, mostly to avoid the tricky questions that would probably get to confess things he didn’t really want to. Whenever his mind started wandering too much, he would drop the book he was reading and grab another, simple as that. If Al thought anything of the unusual dynamic studying, he certainly didn’t voice it.

But Edward did not need his brother to see that things were only worsening. He could tell when the last straw was there, and this time it was insomnia.

It wasn’t like it had never happened to him before. However, the nightmares were not the main issue. His dreams were fine — actually, Edward couldn’t remember having _finer_ ones — and what bothered him was exactly that. Some would make his skin burn and his body tremble, leave his lungs spasming in soft pants. He would open his eyes deliriously, reaching out for pale skin that wasn’t really there.

The others were rarer, but their bare existence made Edward squirm in loathing. These were the worst: they made him hurt in the wrong places, and the pain could not be quelled by a cold shower. He despised them and loved them equally, even though he would never admit to the last. And he could _never_ , not after waking up mid-smile trying to press himself further into the mattress.

That was the last straw. He need— he _needed_ , no idea what it _was_ that he needed but he _did_ and in the end it’s all that matters.

A week after the _“full split incident”_ , he went to Mustang’s office.

Hawkeye had even commented that Edward willingly coming to headquarters was a delightful surprise, which probably meant that she was astounded with the action. Breda tried to make him join a bet for a free lunch, but since Ed knew better than to bet _anything_ with the redhead, he just laughed and made his way to the inner room.

He realized a bit too late that this had been an awful idea.

Mustang eyed him up and down from between the stacks of files. It was so, so quick, and yet it made all these tiny needles prickle his skin. He stood by the door, waiting. A word, an order, a joke about his stature, anything. The Colonel gave him nothing.

Ed cleared his throat, attempting to get the man’s attention.

“Fullmetal,” the voice was like a low rumble, “I don’t recall requesting your presence.”

The tone was dull. Dull, dull, dull, and Roy had never, ever spoken to him like that. Edward caught himself recoiling, pressing against the wooden surface behind him like a cornered animal.

“I— uh, I’ve been wondering if…”

He closed his hands in tight fists, carving cuts like crescent moons on his palm. That’s not like him. That’s not like Mustang, _yes_ , but most importantly that’s not like him. He’s not _shy_ or _meak_ and he was not going to become any of these things because a stupid man was not looking at him. Oh, so Mustang was pissed? Well, than Ed would make him _more pissed_.

“I want a mission.”

He didn’t. Not really. And he was certain that would not be the first lie he would be telling today.

“I don’t have an assignment fit for your abilities at the moment, Major,” he explained, “Maybe you could use this break to move forward with your alchemical research.”

“I need a mission because I’m supposed to move forward, damn it,” Ed snapped, “Central has nothing for us.”

Lies. Lies, lies, and lies.

Their conversation was punctuated by the soft _scratch scratch_ of Mustang’s signature. Edward was sure he had never seen the man this concentrated on his work before.

“There must be a section in the library you and your brother have not ravished yet.”

_look at me look at me why the fuck aren’t you looking at me_

Edward crossed his arms even though the Colonel could not see the irritation radiating from his body language, “Or you can stop being a bastard and give me some shit to do.”

_scratch scratch scratch_

“Fullmetal, I already said that I have nothing for you,” he calmly stated, “Stop trying to blame me for your lack of progress. Dismissed.”

Edward’s jaw fell open.

“ _What the fuck are you—_ ”

“I said dismissed, Fullmetal.”

The man was still leafing through the paperwork and Ed couldn’t understand a thing anymore. He was torn between frustration and bafflement, his face heating up even if he didn’t feel embarrassed at all. His hands trembled; he had never wanted so bad to disappear and at the same time beg to just be noticed.

“ _Blaming you for my lack of progress?!,_ ” he gritted his teeth, seething, “Seriously, all I did was fucking ask—”

He was interrupted by the sound of the pen falling from the Flame Alchemist’s fingers. Or better yet, of it being thrown on the desk. Roy pressed his face against his palms, taking a deep breath and then running a hand through his hair. His eyes finally settled on Ed, and the dark circles under them made him look thoroughly worn-out.

“And I said I have no assignments for you,” he insisted, “Now, please, leave.”

He sounded forlorn as if Ed’s simple presence could exhaust him to his very limit. Edward’s chest tightened painfully and he just wanted to get out of this goddamned room, to leave the weight behind. And at the same time he wanted to come closer — to _pull closer_ , to comfort, even if all the misery had been caused by him.

Ed opened his mouth to protest, but the sounds died before reaching his tongue.

“You were the one who said that if I wanted you out, I should just ask,” he whispered, shoulders slumping slightly, “Please, Edward.”

The blond gave him a curt nod and left.

  
  
  


Ed was in an undeniable bad mood, to the point that Alphonse could obviously sense it. Adding that to an alluring Sunday morning and the younger Elric had the perfect excuse for a break. A well-deserved one. And thus, they decided to go to the best place to appreciate a warm day: the park.

Alphonse was thrilled with the prospect of spending the day “having fun” with his older brother. Edward couldn’t quite understand why it was so much different from studying together, but apparently, the change of environment meant a lot to Al. The young alchemist had to go along with it, follow the younger around the trees and bushes. As Alphonse alternated between petting dogs and making scientific observations about random plants, Edward was disturbed by a different type of cold.

It was overwhelming. Coiled in the pit of the stomach and steadily spreading over his body like a disease. What was this…? Edward frowned at nothing particularly, drained and confused. The world seemed to keep going, but Ed felt stuck on the previous page, unable to take a step in any direction.

He shivered as he remembered the harsh words from yesterday. He’d been replaying his conversation with Mustang in his head over and over again. A ridiculous attempt to understand the exact moment he had slipped, when things had turned sour and… opaque.

Because that was the word, right? Roy’s eyes had been _opaque_. 

Or maybe it was all in his head. Maybe he had read too much into the whole thing; their involvement and those fucking drawings. He should have never looked at the stupid things, just some random sketches that had probably been done without thought. Kicking a rock out of his way, Ed wondered how long it would take for him to completely bury this gnawing sensation.

_“Stop trying to blame me for your lack of progress.”_

Edward wanted to hit something. Or himself, perhaps. He could not afford to be like this — moping, whining, mourning for something that had never been alive, to begin with. Clenching his fists, he made his decision: to hell with Mustang. To hell with his artistic shit. To hell with the furtive glances and the licking lips and the churning stomach. Fuck Roy Mustang and all the unprofessional feelings that had wormed their way into their _professional relationship_.

They were nothing but a subordinate and a pathetic excuse of a commanding officer. And it ended there.

Alphonse broke his chain of thought by loudly pointing:

“Look, Brother! That dog over there looks like Black Hayate!”

The small animal was loose and came bouncing in the boy’s direction, Alphonse’s arms stretching instantly offering pets. As leather fingers excitedly threaded through black fur and the short tail wagged excitedly, Ed’s attention turned to the figure approaching them with an empty leash.

Edward smiled and waved, “I think that _is_ Black Hayate, Al.”

He almost didn’t recognize her. Riza Hawkeye in comfortable civilian clothes and loose hair, step with a relaxed sway that Edward had never expected to see. But she still stood firmly, and Ed would not risk taking her for granted — Riza was The Hawk’s Eye and he was sure she could be alert and dangerous even if she wasn’t intending to.

“Miss Hawkeye!” exclaimed Alphonse, “Isn’t it dangerous to let Hayate like this?”

“Not really, he’s a smart dog,” she smiled, pulling a straying strand of blond hair behind her ear, “It’s nice to see you two out here.”

Alphonse beamed, “Yes! It took me a lot but I finally convinced Brother to take a break…”

At that point, Edward was drifting off again. It wasn’t that the conversation was tremendously boring — although mundane stuff was often exactly that — but he just had other things to do. Such as being angry at Roy Mustang.

Or at himself. It was _Ed’s fault_ , in the end. He couldn’t stop listing ‘what if’s — _what if he had never looked at the drawings, what if he hadn’t let Roy’s glances mess him up that much, what if he had never tried to test the man’s limits._ Ridiculous, useless thoughts — but he had them anyway.

The blond felt a tremor run up and down his arms and he wanted to punch himself. How could he turn into this because of a crush, dammit?! Ed had been sure nothing would ever happen, what had changed his mind in the past week?

_i want him to keep looking at me_

Edward sighed. Hawkeye was staring at him with a funny expression, and he could guess he'd been a bit loud.

Alphonse was obviously going to question, and the woman intervened, “Alphonse, I brought a toy for Black Hayate, why don’t you throw it for him?”

The helmet alternated between Riza and the older sibling, and Al accepted his fate with few protests, “Ugh, I’m not a _kid_ , you don’t need to push me away for _grown up talks_ …”

Edward’s indignant snort was completely ignored by the younger. Alphonse took the toy from the lieutenant hands and called for Black Hayate, who gladly followed the clanking armor.

The instant they were out of hearing range, she turned to Ed; her brows held a determined frown and she pressed her lips together in what Ed assumed was worry.

“If not him, then you,” she breathed out, “What happened yesterday?”

“What the—”

“Edward, you left the office looking miserable,” Edward looked down and something told him that Riza had averted her gaze as well, “And his mood turned... _bad_.” 

He straightened up at that, “His mood…?”

“The Colonel’s, of course.”

Riza had said that as if it was already obvious. Common knowledge she had no idea how could Ed have missed. It wasn’t, Ed was pretty sure of that.

“He hasn’t really been on his best for the past week,” explained her, “He’s been working _too much_ , and that usually means he is trying to take his mind off something. 

“And then, after your visit, he stopped functioning altogether… He kept glancing at the clock nonstop, I had to hide away the important papers because he spilled coffee all over his desk _twice_ ,” palming her temples in distress, she sighed tiredly, “You see, I have serious reasons to believe he was having a mental breakdown.”

Edward frowned, “And that was after I left yesterday?”

Riza nodded.

“I still don’t get what I have to do with it.”

“I have suspicions, but I thought you should be the one to tell me that.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“He’s dramatic,” shrugging, the lieutenant crossed her arms, “And he has the tendency to blow things out of proportion and wallow in self-hatred. Both of you do, actually, but it’s easier to get you to talk because you're blunt.”

“The fuck you mean with—”

“I mean,” she cut him, “That I’m worried about you, and I want to help you two to sort things out.”

Edward raised his arms in frustration.

“And I’m telling you I have no idea of what’s happening! It’s not like I get him either!”

“You look like shit, he looks like shit,” insisted Riza, “and I’m sure if you two would just sit down and talk like the adults you pretend to be, everything would—”

“Stop talking as if I can change his bad mood, that makes no fucking sense! You’re the one who said he’s like that _because of me!_ Mustang hates me!”

“That’s not true, Edward,” said she with much conviction, “And you know that already.”

It shouldn’t be that easy to _want_ to talk to Mustang. Minutes ago, Ed would have sworn to never even think about the bastard, nevermind talking to him; he shoved his hands inside of his pants' pockets and looked down. Did she know? About the glances, the oddly cold thing buzzing around them every time they spoke? If Alphonse did already — maybe not the depth of it, but the fact they existed — nothing stopped someone as perceiving as Hawkeye to read through him. Still, it did not excuse the sudden urge he had to _tell her_. She understood Mustang better than him, had known him for a longer time and he could ask her.

Except that he couldn’t, right…?

“Hey, don’t act as if it’s the end of the world.”

His eyes found hers the exact moment she placed a hand on his shoulders, fondness curving her lips upwards in a warm but still contained smile. Edward blinked in surprise, not used to such personal contacts with the Lieutenant.

“Just promise me you will try, okay? I’m sure if you talk, you’ll be able to forgive him.”

Ed snorted, “why’d you assume he’s the wrong one here?”

Riza looked at him apologetically, the smile growing a bit as if compensating for a further comfort she couldn’t offer.

“Because he usually is.”

  
  
  


It took him a total of five days to gather the courage to approach Mustang. Two of them were Alphonse nagging him about his conversation with the lieutenant, and the remaining three were Alphonse nagging him to keep his promise with the lieutenant. All five of them included low concentration on daily tasks and staring off into the distance with a melancholic expression.

He hit the dead end of procrastination at Friday night, laying on his bed at the dorms with _Alphonse nagging_ — he couldn’t handle it anymore, his patience had hit its limit. Ed screamed, groaned, twisted and turned, while Al rolled figurative eyes.

“Fine!” he had screamed, “I’ll go and talk to him today if that makes you shut up about it!”

“Brother, it’s Friday night,” the younger Elric had calmly advised, “if you go now it will only add more drama to your current drama.”

But Ed had already stormed out without glancing back.

It took him a few blocks to remember he didn’t know where Roy lived and a wave of relief washed through him. Even if postponing the encounter meant dealing with Alphonse for a few more days.

Wandering through the streets, however, proved to be a highly effective way to avoid going back to pestering little brothers. The breeze chilled the night; not enough to dishevel Edward's hair, but to feel a bit like soft caresses whenever it touched his skin. The area around the dorms was mostly residential, only from time to time, one could spot movement — a car honking, drunken men going back to their homes, occasional gossiping meetings. Ed knew though, that if you walked enough, you could find the nightlife of Central.

The city was known for more than being the capital. If you listened to talks — which Ed _did_ , and that meant only that he was interested in keeping up with the social events and nothing more — you would know. The four soldiers talking about the recently opened bar, the man looking at a suspicious ad on an alley, the women commenting about the new show house… If there was one thing that Edward liked about Central, was how the city never truly slept. Somewhere, there was someone doing something.

It made the environment feel like an unstoppable machine, like an alchemical array being constantly injected with energy.

As soon as he stepped into the night hub, the collective euphoria hit him like a punch. Rows and rows of bars, clubs, pubs and other questionable places, filled with the most variant faces Central could offer. And the best of it: Edward could pick any of them.

Strolling through the sea of tables invading the sidewalk, Ed checked the clientele of each establishment. He wasn’t exactly looking for a drink, but rather a spot he could waste time in. The thought of going back to Alphonse after failing the _Mustang Situation_ seemed pathetic; maybe he could grab some food before resigning himself to the endless mocking.

A hand curled around his forearm, and Ed had the metal fist ready to break a nose—

—until he found the ridiculously black eyes.

“What the fuck, Mustang?,” he pulled his arm away, “You scared the hell outta me! I was going to punch you, you idiot!”

The man blinked, incredulous.

“Do you have the habit of punching people who approach you?”

“If they come creeping from behind, yes!”

"I wasn’t creeping...," followed by a mumbled an apology.

The blond rolled his eyes, “What do you even want?”

_i thought you’d never want to talk to me again_

“ I just— well, I was enjoying a drink at that nice bar around the corner when you, how can I say…” he raised his brows, the beginning of smile showing on the corners of his lips, “Stepped inside for around 3 seconds and then ran out?”

Edward felt the blush creeping up his cheeks. 

“I was just checking the place.”

“Oh, and I assume it didn’t satisfy your exquisite tastes?”

The young alchemist stared at him. A long, critical stare; analyzing and over analyzing the man’s features, assessing the information hidden there. It was a light tone, playful even, as if Roy was making one of the infamous short jokes or maybe… was that _flirting?_ Or was it to familiar to be? Ed had no idea. A few days ago Roy sounded as if he’d wanted to get rid of Ed for good and now _this?_

Feeling as if walking on crystal bridge over a ferocious river, he smirked.

“It can’t be that good, I mean, _you_ like it, uh?”

Roy made a face and Edward could swear he heard the floor was cracking.

Then the sound of laughter overcame it.

“That’s a fairly good point,” the man said, a bit breathlessly, “I must give that to you.”

And the conversation died at that, leaving two men standing in the middle of Central’s loudest street. Their eyes locked, and for a few seconds, Edward saw that lurking exhaustion within the Colonel’s irises.

“Fullmetal, I—”

“We need to talk.” Edward blurted out.

Then all scraps of emotion were hidden again.

“Yes,” he nodded slowly, “we probably should.”

Edward glanced at the people around them, “Let’s go somewhere else.”

Understanding, Roy arched his brows and motioned for Ed to follow him.

  
  
  


Mustang lived in an apartment. Which was completely unexpected, since Edward had always thought of him as the ‘opulent townhouse’ type — although he had to admit the ‘bachelor cave’ one also fit.

It was simple. Not large, not small, not decorated, not empty, too average. The lack of personality gave the impression it was inhabited by a person living a rushed, unstable life, as if Mustang could just up and leave at any moment. However, it did not felt uncomfortable; not precisely cozy, but familiar. Like a coffee shop you frequent so much, that the seat in the corner has your butt’s shape or something like that.

The only remarkable aspects were two empty bottles of whiskey on the coffee table, and Ed didn’t really want to think about those. Roy got rid of them pretty quickly.

Edward sat on the very far end of the couch, and Roy took the other corner. He felt like an intruder, invading the other’s space like this. The Flame Alchemist had his head lowered, looking at the hands on his lap.

“So,” Roy started.

“So.”

_Silence._

“Did Hawkeye…?”

“No.”

The man eyed Ed.

“Maybe a little,” muttered the blond, embarrassed, “And Alphonse too but you could’ve guessed that.”

“What would we be without them, really…”

Edward snorted, “I don’t know about me, but you’d be a total slacker.”

A strained laugh. And _silence_.

Lots of silence.

Roy sighed and finally raised his head, changing his position to seat tuned to Edward. The blond wasn’t very fond of the idea of getting any closer to the other, so he just relaxed a little, laying his weight back against the cushions.

The words he wished to say kept coming and going, never staying long enough in his mind to be spoken. He didn’t have a whole speech planned, but the outlines of what he ought to talk about had been pretty defined. Or at least, before he actually got to the point he had to actually _talk_. Taking a deep breath, he tried to form a single sentence that could actually be spoken, but Roy beat him to it:

“I should probably apologize.”

Ed’s eyes widened, “Wh—”

“I was rude with you when you went to my office,” he rubbed his nape and Edward saw the fingers tugging at the short hair there, “These days have been a mess but that’s not justifiable, I’m sorry for lashing out on you that way.”

“It’s fine, really, you were pretty tired back then,” crossing his arms, the young alchemist uneasily attempted to seem more comfortable, “Actually, you still look like sh— uh, tired.”

“Seriously?”

Edward looked at him. At those crumpled clothes and stubble and the slightly messier than usual hair. Roy’s fingers kept twitching and his back was too straight for someone who had just come from a casual night out at a bar.

“Yeah, you have these bags under your eyes and shit.”

Roy chuckled dryly, “I slept a reasonable amount of time last night, thought they would be gone by now.”

Edward thought this was a nice moment to try to get a bit closer. So he did, too aware of the cushions shifting underneath him and the piercing gaze to his side.

“Hm, so, Colon—”

Or better yet:

“ _Roy_ , is everything alright?”

The man frowned.

“I need you to be more specific.”

“With you,” and then quietly: “With us.”

Understanding flashed over Roy’s features — only to be immediately replaced by pain. He winced, and Ed’s body slumped a bit in response.

“That depends more on you.”

Edward shivered.

“I know you said it was fine,” he continued, “but there’s something else I should apologize for.”

With a deep, shuddering breath Roy let his head fall on top of the backrest, in a way that allowed to keep looking at Edward straight in the eyes.

“A while ago, I noticed a few… changes on your behavior,” Roy smiled and Ed could swear it was because of the blush attacking his cheeks once again, “And although it was pleasing initially, it became a bit uncomfortable.”

 _Oh,_ thought Ed, _so this is what being dumped feels like._

“Not only because of the risks it brought for both us, but also because it made really happy,” he grimaced, “And I thought you were playing with my feelings.”

Ed’s jaw dropped.

“ _What feelings?_ ”

Roy snapped back to a sitting position and raised his hand, “Wait, I’m getting there.”

Turning to the man, Edward squinted his eyes at him.

“So, I spent the past days reflecting a lot on our— what, relationship? And about you as well, and came to the conclusion that you’re not that type at all.”

The laugh that left Edward’s lips could convey many emotions: relief, disbelief, hysteria, the strong desire to smack Roy in the face.

“Are you telling me the reason why you made Hawkeye’s life hell was because you thought I was playing with your fucking feelings?”

“Also, I think I may be in love with you.”

Edward choked, “ _In love?!_ What the— How the fuck was I supposed to know _that?!_ All I did was see some fucking drawings!”

“You saw my drawings?!” Roy gasped, “I can’t believe it, they are _mine!_ ”

“Then you shouldn’t just leave them all over your desk!”

“I’ll leave them however I want, you’re not supposed to look through my things! And what do _my sketches_ have to do with you coming to work—” he pressed his temples, annoyance clear in the previously tired features, “ _Throwing_ your hair over your shoulder like a character from a novel or…”

Edward let out an outraged _uh?_ , forgetting completely about the past hesitancy and kneeling on the cushions to get closer to the man. He was angry, he was seething… All the time he’d lost thinking about the bastard, all the nights awake, all the food he didn’t eat, because he was worried about Roy!

“You are drawing me!” 

“And what’s wrong with that? I think you are beautiful so of course I’m going to try to draw you! You want me to stop, I’ll stop, but you should try asking me instead of—”

“ _Why are you like this?!_ " Ed grabbed Roy by the lapels and pulled him down.

He was so shocked by his own actions he barely moved. Shaking from head to toes, he could feel Roy’s warmth and he ached to snuggle on it, let it calm his pondering heart. However, he was afraid of Roy’s reaction — _in love in love in love_ — and it was a shitty kiss.

But then Roy was kissing back and it wasn’t that shitty anymore.

In a blink, Ed was on the man’s lap. He had no idea how he’d gotten there, and at this point, he wasn't that interested in finding out — although it probably had something to do with the hands under his thighs. Roy was tugging him closer by the legs and Ed went compliantly like a rag doll, grip tightening on the shirt’s fabric. _The shirt—_ , it was on the way, stealing Roy’s heat from Ed, who was without doubt its rightful owner.

He got tired of the stupid piece of cloth and moved to the closest patch of skin he could find: the neck. Trying to touch as much as possible, Edward stretched his fingers and thumbed the beginning of stubble right under the man’s chin, the rough touch sending shivers down his spine. _Roy Mustang Roy Mustang I am kissing Roy Mustang._

Roy’s tongue slid against his once, twice, thrice, and when Ed finally found his way into his mouth, Roy nipped softly the muscle making the blond buck. Too fast, too much, and Ed couldn’t breathe. A pair of hands gripped his hips and pulled him down hard and Edward _whimpered_ ; the low hummed sound that answered him made all his muscles spasm deliciously.

Roy pulled back and _why?_

“Does that mean everything is alright between us?”

“What the fuck, Mustang?”

“I need to be sure.”

“What makes you— _yes_ , you dumb asshole, now can we—”

“Is it okay if I continue drawing you?”

He stared at Roy, stared into his eyes. The dark, dark path inside of them that lit up in flames when Ed was around. There was just so much inside of them — and Edward might just be the one that could see a part of it.

“If it’s you, then I guess it is.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this wasn't so bad...

**Author's Note:**

> [links](https://aluinihi.carrd.co/)


End file.
